Withered Old Sage

Tasoshi Drakamoto's silence gnawed at the Grand Consul. Not knowing what damage Jicarilla the Rime had wrought was dangerous. Not knowing how close the Conclave Arcana stood to uncovering Praetoria's secret was worse.

The time to act had come. Likely, it was already past. The consul advised the suam emperor to send a vanguard in advance of a larger Dragonsguard deployment—something, anything—until the ranks of the ashinach were battle-ready. The emperor, displeased that his councilors and ministers had so miscalculated the threat Portia Nyr and her conclave posed, acceded.

Dragonlord Eric Mancer leads the vanguard. Among his retinue shuffles Orrak Veyl, the venerated professor of draconic studies at Oasis's Imperial Academy. Ancient enough that his scales have dulled to gray and bones jutting like crooked branches, he leans on a staff worn smooth by centuries, his breath rattling like dry parchment.

His mind still cuts sharper than any Dragonsguard blade.

Too many wars taught him that peace demands a price. He binds the small drakoshan vanguard together with wisdom alone, though some worry his heart will give out long before their task is done, what with the way he limps, winces, totters, wheezes.